


in the dark (where i like to keep my heart)

by necroeffect



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Horcruxes, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Manipulation, Morally Grey Albus Dumbledore, Possessive Behavior, Sane Tom Riddle, Sane is Relative and Not Identical to Good, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Tom Riddle's Diary, Writing Exercise, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28694940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroeffect/pseuds/necroeffect
Summary: "An ally of yours?" Harry sputtered, incredulous at the sheer thought. "Why would I follow you? You're killing Ginny!" He nearly shot to his feet at the declaration in anger.The gall of this man--!Tom's voice cut through his rage."Ah, but you feel it, don't you? There is a link between us-- a bond. It is growing stronger as my strength increases." His hands sought Harry's chin, pulling his face down to meet his gaze. The touch felt electric, and as he gazed into Riddle's dark blue eyes under dark lashes, he understood what he meant. He felt as if he couldn't pull away, as if he should get closer and closer to the other teen. He barely resisted the pull, sharply aware of Ginny behind them.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 31
Kudos: 211





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ive never actually experienced canon media so please forgive me for any mischaracterizations or incorrect events

Voldemort was evil.

He knew and breathed that knowledge with every fiber of his being. The man had killed his parents, and had tried to kill him as well. He had brought about a war in effort to subjugate mugglebornes and proliferate dark magic. He had brought about the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands. He was the definition of an evil man.

And yet.

And yet the man standing before him did not feel like the epitome of everything dark and evil. There was no demonic edge to his movements, no unspeakable madness to behold. He seemed wary yet relaxed, and a bit to proper in the way he held himself, if anything. Aunt Petunia seemed more malicious at her tea parties she held with the neighbors if anything, looking to find the newest gossip and dirt to scorn her fellow housewives - even though Tom Riddle was slowly killing his best mate's sister.

"I don't want young Ginerva to die either, you know." He said softly, staring unto her paling, lifeless body. "But I've been left with no other option. This is the only way I can come back, in my current state." He peered down at his own form and frowned, flexing his hands in a show of distaste. "But the wizarding world needs me. Before they stray too far from the point of no return. Before I can't stop the degradation of our culture anymore."

"The degradation of our culture?" He spat, incredulous. "You mean your version that tells them that they're inferior? That they're not welcome in wizarding society?" How incensed he was dripped from every syllable.

Tom stared at him, before a wave of comprehension settled over his features. He knelt down on the hard stone floor, closer to where Harry had fallen and scraped his hands. He flinched at the sudden proximity, but didn't move as Voldemort's baritone washed over him.

"That's not my intention at all. Magic is magic, and I would be nothing but a hypocrite to look down upon new blood." His words had a certain charisma that drew Harry in as passion laced his words. "They are disadvantaged though. How are they supposed to succeed in our world, when their peers have 11 years of experience that they lack? When they don't even understand our values? When they have been left to the hands of Muggles who don't appreciate them, and may even harm them very their very nature? Its despicable." Harry's eyes widened at the speech, surprised.

This wasn't what he expected. None of this. Why wasn't Riddle attacking him and instead trying to do... this?

Riddle continued on, impassioned. "We are very similar after all, in our background. You told me enough to know that your relatives don't treat you well. My upbringing was... similar." He sneered. "Imagine if you had been protected from them, and had been taught magic all your life. It would be so much easier, wouldn't it? There would be no culture shock to burden your learning, no need to feel like you need to catch up to your peers."

The teen peered up at Harry, seeming to look through him.

Harry considered his words, and found nothing but truth. He had dreamed of being taken away from his relatives, of being allowed to stay at Hogwarts and to simply be able to use his magic. He had watched Hermoine, despite her genius, struggle against the purebloods who had so much more experience and knowledge about their culture due to the fact the Wizarding world had been a given to them since birth. Voldemort's words truly resonated with him.

That thought brought a wave of revulsion. This wasn't right. That didn't sound like Voldemort at all. The horror of last year, of facing that man rolled through him. Harry vocalized that opinion, defiant.

Tom simply shook his head, and smiled deprecatingly. "I don't know why my future self fell into pure blood politics like he did. Perhaps it was to court the pureblood to his side, to gain power - I can't be sure. But what I can say for certain is that those are my beliefs, Harry." His looked into his eyes, expression earnest. "But even a man like Dumbledore has fell into a desire for more and more power. Absolute power corrupts absolute, after all." His smile twisted into something mocking.

Anger surged through him at the insinuation. "Dumbledore is nothing like Voldemort."

Tom had the gall to laugh, even if it was more of a huff of amusement, if anything. "Is he not? Do you truly believe that?"

After a moment of consideration, the teen changed his tone to something more conspiratorial. "But then again, would you believe me, if I told you he knew your parents were going to die? That Voldemort would try to kill you?" He said, his gaze intense. "Would you believe me, knowing that he could have prevented heir deaths and protected you? That he chose not to, because he knew you would win the war for him?"

Tom's argument sounded too rational to becoming from the lips of someone who had caused the near death of several students. Of someone who had drug a first year student down beneath the school to die for his own resurrection.

"Doesn't sacrificing a boy and his family for his own gain, sound like something Voldemort would do?"

"He wouldn't. No, he-- he would have protected me if he knew. Definitely." The confidence to his voice wavered slightly, his voice cracking,

Tom hummed non-commitally, looking coy. "I don't believe Dumbledore is the man you think he is. Did you not say that he knew about your Relative's treatment, and yet he turned you away from staying at Hogwarts, just like he did me? Should he not have protected you then?" He asked.

Harry floundered for a response, feeling distinctly overwhelmed. He felt too uncertain to even consider Riddle's words, despite how they resonated within him. He was right, but this was the image of the man who had killed his parents.

Tom seemed to take his silence as a response on it's own. "I have confidence that you don't trust my opinion." And something about how the teen said that made Harry feel nearly guilty. But then, Riddle smiled as if he done something _right_. "Which is only wise to do, considering our circumstance."

His gaze was appraising as he continued, nearly without pause. "After all, to believe blindly is foolishness, and would be undesirable of an ally of mine."

Harry's eyes widened in the implication, before anger swept through him.

"An ally of yours?" Harry sputtered, incredulous at the sheer thought. "Why would I follow you? You're killing Ginny!" He nearly shot to his feet at the declaration in anger. The gall of this man-!

Tom's voice cut through his rage.

"Ah, but you feel it, don't you? There is a link between us- a bond. It is growing stronger as my strength increases." His hands sought Harry's chin, pulling his face down to meet his gaze. The touch felt electric, and as he gazed into Riddle's dark blue eyes under dark lashes, he understood what he meant. He felt as if he couldn't pull away, as if he should get closer and closer to the other teen. He barely resisted the pull, sharply aware of Ginny behind them.

"Even if you didn't hurt all those students--" he started, swallowing dryly at the thought. "If Ginny dies, I would never follow you."

Tom's lips pursed at his response, and his expression was unreadable.

He broke their gaze, glancing back at Ginny for a long moment, before closing his eyes. There was an air of resignation to him, at that moment.

"Then she won't."

The words fell from lips simply, before he stood upright and turned to the girl laid prone behind them like a sacrifice.

Tom seemed to breathe in, closing his eyes before his form dimmed significantly, making his appearance more ephemeral.

Ginny's pale skin, nearly chalk white began to return to a more natural pallor. Her shallow breathing returned to something deeper and steadier. Something in Harry's chest uncoiled at the sight, and he looked to Tom in complete surprise.

To think he would go through all this effort and simply stop because he said no was baffling. Harry looked at the spectre of a teen before him in incomprehension. What was he _doing_?

Tom simply picked up the Diary and walked back to Harry before offering it to him, as if in tribute. Harry stared at the teen wordlessly with wide eyes and he spoke.

"We shall speak later. Ginerva will need medical attention, and I suggest you ask Dumbledore if he truly knew what would happen that night." He gave a smile, full of teeth.

His mouth fell after nearly a second, returning to something more neutral and Harry felt something like whiplash as seriousness dripped from Riddle's words. "If he claims he didn't know, then my life is forfeit. However, I ask you do not tell him of our conversation."

He grew close as he implored the young teen, and Harry could feel the ghost of Riddle's breath against his cheeks. A sudden cloying urge for personal space was lost as Riddle's form seem to shudder for a moment, before his disappearance quickened.

Harry found it impossible to look away as Tom's form was evaporating away into the darkness of the torch-lit chamber. The teen smiled softly at him.

"Keep me safe, Harry Potter." 

And just like that, Tom Riddle vanished from the chamber.

Harry's heartbeat echoed in his ears loudly, and for a moment he stared incomprehensibly at Ginny's prone form. As the silence of the chamber seemed impossibly loud to his ears. If not for the Diary, warm in his hands and the sting of his scrapes, he would have wondered if the last half an hour had truly happened.

But it had, and Tom Riddle's diary laid innocently in his grasp.

"I can't believe this is my life." He said after a long moment, but despite himself gathered up Ginny in his arms and made his way back the way he came through the chamber.

* * *

Harry had returned to where Ron had been blocked off from him, only to find several professors clearing the heavy stones that had barricaded him in. They admonished his rashness, but also seemed incredibly relieved that Ginny had been found and brought back to them. The three of them were taken to the infirmary by a professor, while a few stayed to survey the chamber. He warned them of the basilisk, and felt apprehension leaving them in the chamber, but his protests were left ignored as he was led from the Chamber.

Dumbledore was waiting for their arrival with Madame Pomfrey, and as the Mediwitch bustled over Ginny's form, he knew he would have an opportunity to speak with the man. A wave of nervousness washed over him, but the Diary was almost a comforting weight, hidden in his breast pocket. He felt incredibly guilty, not surrendering the item immediately- but he had to know if Tom's words were truth.

He didn't know what he would do if they were, but something in him hesitated in writing off their conversation completely. He needed to know.

"Mister Potter, I am incredibly relieved to see you return safe to us with Miss Weasley." Dumbledore smiled at him, seemingly like more of a proud grandparent than a Headmaster at that moment. The words nearly made Harry feel sour, the Diary hidden in his robes feeling incredibly heavy at that moment.

"Thank you, Sir." The words felt like sandpaper coming past his lips. He diverted his gaze away from Dumbledore's beard, unable to meet his eyes in any capacity as the guilt weighed heavy upon him.

"I must ask you, however, that you tell me what happened. I believe I heard something from the other professors about a basilisk?"

He told Headmaster of his journey down to the chamber, but paused upon his recount of Tom Riddle. The young teen stroked his breast pocket, and instead told him he had simply found Ginny in the chamber. Harry omitted any mention of Riddle, despite his guilt at the deception. It had to be done. He continued to divert his gaze from Dumbledore's own, feeling a sense of shame at betraying the man's trust.

"I think she's been cursed, Sir. Or the culprit must have done something to sedate her while he took her to the Chamber." 

"Are you sure you didn't see anyone, my boy?"

"No, sir." He lied shamelessly. "But I was worried about the basilisk, so I got her out of there as quickly as I could, before it could find us."

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, and Harry thought the man would call him out for his lie. But instead, the older man smiled and told him, "You did a good deed today, Harry. 100 points to Gryffindor for your bravery today."

Guilt crept up on him, but Harry furiously ignored it. "Thank you, sir." He told him somewhat genuinely, because he did consider himself brave for going down into that Chamber- even if he truly had no choice.

"I do hope we find the culprit to these deeds soon, however." Dumbledore stroked his beard, and he gained a very serious air. "It would be disastrous if something to this extent happened again. They might shut down the school for good, if so." He told Harry.

He swallowed almost nervously at his words, but nodded. "I hope so." He said simply.

"Very well. If there's anything else you can remember though, my boy, do let me know." Dumbledore informed him. "I should contact Mister and Missus Weasely and let them know the status of young Ginerva." The Headmaster made a move to leave, his ornate robes twisting in the movement.

Harry considered just allowing the man to leave for now, to pick up his inquiry later. But earlier words of Riddle seemed to call back to him, spurring him to immediate action.

_"Did you not say that he knew about your Relative's treatment, and yet he turned you away from staying at Hogwarts, just like he did me? Should he not have protected you then?"_

He spoke out abruptly to the man as he turned to walk away, despite himself. "Actually, sir. I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Oh?" He turned back, surprised. "What is it, Harry?"

"I..." He hesitated for a moment, before the memory of Tom catching his gaze flashed through his mind's eye, and he continued. "Voldemort, back then- with the philosopher's stone," he babbled, making up a reason how he would know the information Tom had given him. "He said that you knew he was after my parents. Is it true, sir? Did you know he would come after them?"

"Oh, Harry." His expression softened. "Your parents were fighting against the Dark Lord in the war. Of course we all knew it was possible for them to be sought out. It was simply a risk they took, fighting for what was right."

His explanation sounded perfectly reasonable, and _yet_ \-- _"Should he not have protected you then?"_ Echoed again and again within his mind.

"But you knew?" Harry persisted, despite Dumbledore's argument eating away at his suspicion.

"Of course," he told him simply. "It was always a possibility."

After a moment, and a feeling of dissatisfaction rolled over him, he nodded.

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry to bother you with questions like that." He told him, his mind whirling away distantly as he thanked the man without much thought.

"Absolutely, my boy. Do feel free to always come to me if you have any questions. And especially if you have anything else to tell me about what happened." He smiled, and his eyes twinkled in the candlelight. "I must go, however. Do take it easy, lad."

And with little pomp and circumstance, the man left.

Harry simply watched, uncertain what to think after the man's response. It was reasonable, but there was also the question of why his parents hadn't been better protected if the man knew Voldemort might attack them. They had just had a child, and Harry couldn't imagine a better opportunity to exploit weakness. Surely someone could have stayed with them to make sure they were safe? Or perhaps they were all too preoccupied with war efforts.

Harry wasn't sure what to think. But Tom had been right, in a way. Then again, the man could have been trying to manipulate him.

He drug a hand over his face, suddenly feeling exhausted and drained. He got more comfortable on the hospital cot he was sat on, and tried to simply allow himself to feel relieved that Ginny was okay as he waited to be seen to from Madame Pomfrey. As he waited to see Ron and Hermoine, and pretend that everything was okay for a while. That he didn't have Voldemort in his breast pocket.

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation, wishing nothing more that this day was over. He didn't know what to tell his friends, if to even say anything at all.

Perhaps it could wait until tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres some more :)

* * *

Harry stared down at the Diary, almost looking offended at the object that was laid down on his mattress. It's blank pages seemed to jump at him innocently, begging to be stained by ink.

It had been a week. Possibly one of the longest weeks of his life, sans the end of the last school year after a man had burned between his finger tips. Harry still vividly recalled his agonized _screams_ -

The young teen nearly slapped himself at the memory, his hands pressing against the back of his eyelids, trying to break his own trail of thoughts forcefully. He couldn't afford to think about that right now. He couldn't.

He forced himself to think about _this week_ , where he had been profusely thanked by the Weaselys for rescuing their daughter. And it wasn't just Ginny's parents and Ron, but the twins, and even Percy had come personally to thank him. He had even been sent a letter from Bill that still laid on his nightstand. It was nice to appreciated, and he loved the Weaselys deeply - but the knowledge that he still had the Diary made the interactions almost sour.

There was nothing to thank him for, considering he was harboring the culprit of Ginny's attack.

Truthfully, Harry had been stuck in a standstill of what _do_ with the journal. The weight of who possessed it held a heavy hand in his hesitation. Dumbledore's and Voldemort's words wound through his thoughts, playing over and over and _over_. It had left him with many restless nights, and when classes resumed, and left him with little room to concentrate on lessons.

In his opinion, his decision regarding the Diary was too important to set aside in favor of the small lesson plans the professors had been supplying in wake of the general unsteadiness of the staff and students after Ginny's kidnapping.

Though it was that very same air about his fellow students that let him get away with his distant and probably incredibly off behavior. Hermione and Ron had been nearly resolute that _something else_ must have happened in the Chamber that he wasn't telling anyone about.

But he argued for himself, in the moment panicked and frightened that they _knew_ what he had done. Everyone was still upset, and shaken despite their relief that the petrifaction had been stopped and Ginny had been rescued. The hallways that held the messages from the heir, unable to be removed despite Filtch's best efforts, were universally avoided.

" _I almost died, Hermione! Again!" Harry cried out, agitated. "Can I not have some time to deal with that?"_

In the end, they had yielded and apologized. Ron had seemed embarrassed, while Hermione had appeared incredibly guilty. Harry told them he forgave them, and just needed a little space. His own guilt that he carried after that conversation seemed worlds heavier than the diary that had been hidden in his breast pocket.

He could barely look at them, let alone talk to them with the same easiness their friendship had held before Hermione had been petrified. His friends were upset for their own reasons, but tolerant of his behavior. The made an effort to include him, but also gave him his space without hesitation.

Harry didn't know what he would do when they weren't willing to ignore his behavior anymore, and he still felt like the worst friend ever.

And Harry still didn't know what to do! The diary sat before him, looking like nothing more than a normal student journal. Looking as if it didn't hold the memories and image of one of the darkest wizards in his century. He should turn this in to Dumbledore right now, and pretend he had never considered doing this. He was a fool to think he could trust Voldemort in any capacity, and he should just stop this now before Harry hurt Ron and Hermione's trust more than he already had.

_Keep me safe, Harry Potter._

He didn't move, staring at the Diary and glancing at the quill and ink he had brought out earlier. He could hear the soft snoring of his dorm mates beyond his drawn, red curtains. Harry could feel the softness of his mattress and quilt beneath him, incredibly alluring to his sleep deprived form.

He grit his teeth, indecision warring within himself.

"You shouldn't be so worried, Harry. Honestly, your handwriting isn't nearly as bad as you think it is." A familiar voice rang out, startling him from his deep introspection.

Harry couldn't help himself. He jumped, making a noise in alarm and losing his balance. He fell further onto the bed, barely catching himself from falling off with his hands. His eyes were impossibly wide as he looked back to see the nearly ghostly figure of Tom Riddle sitting behind him.

"Surprised?" There was a twist to the Slytherin's lips as he spoke, regarding Harry with an air of amusement. His sapphire eyes glimmered in the low light of the _lumos_ he had conjured earlier.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but he stopped himself. He started to whisper, the sound almost inaudible. "My roommates-"

"Can't hear us." Tom cut him off nonchalantly. "Its a shame the Silencing Charm isn't taught until fourth year, its _incredibly useful_." he explained haughtily, "Perhaps I'll teach it to you later."

"Ah. That's -" Harry floundered for a moment, before Riddle's words truly registered. "Oh."

"Quite," Tom hummed, and despite his translucence he seemed to loom over Harry. The teen swallowed audibly as he studied Riddle's weak form, still shaken from his sudden appearance.

"I honestly expected you to contact me earlier," the elder teen explained with a note of disappointment. "But I suppose you needed time to consider everything that I said to you." Riddle reasoned for him, and Harry couldn't help himself from nodding in agreement.

"I..." Harry started, "there was a lot to think about."

"I'm sure," Tom agreed almost breezily. "But tell me, did Dumbledore confirm my suspicions?"

The Gryffindor hesitated, considering the words he had been thinking over nearly constantly the passed week, before replying. "...In a matter of speaking."

"Oh?" Tom leaned forward in obvious interest.

"The Headmaster said something about the fact they were fighting in a war, and that it was always a possibility that they could be killed at any time." The words sprang out of Harry's mouth nearly without permission.

It was almost a relief to say it, to tell _someone_ about what Dumbledore had said. The way he had spoken about it, despite the way the old man seemed to be heartbroken about the fact the very thing was possible, had seemed like a brushing off of responsibility. _Of course, people can be killed. Its a_ _ **war**_. _What, do you expect me to be able to keep everyone safe?_ Is what the words felt like in hindsight.

And Harry did. He did expect the man to keep his parents safe. Is a solider not the responsibility of his general? But it seemed to be outside of battle, so-

"Of course he would say something like that." Tom muttered almost under his breath, stirring Harry from his thoughts. The older teen spoke more loudly, directly at Harry. "There was generally no fighting outside of raids. The incident with your parents was a very special case."

 _Then he couldn't be responsible then?_ Anxiety spilled into Harry, suddenly very aware that he should be turning over the diary right now.

Tom seemed to study his jittery movements, before speaking to him in a soothing tone. "Did he tell you about the Prophecy, then? I assume that's also bringing you a decent amount of indecision as well."

Harry's spiraling thoughts about how _the diary was a mistake_ faltered. "Prophecy?" He inquired, confused at the term.

And Riddle just froze at his question, looking at him incredulously. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before seeming to find the words to say. "No one told you?"

"About a prophecy? No, I didn't even... I guess it makes sense, we have a Divination class here, right?" Harry reasoned, "But no. No one ever mentioned anything like that to me."

"Of course," there was heavy sense of disapproval from Tom's tone.

Harry watched the ghostly form run a hand through his hair. It was a very human motion, and something that felt very out of character to watch. Tom always seemed to be perfect, his body language eerily lacking in a way that he couldn't describe. Harry couldn't decide if the motion was relieving or disconcerting.

And then he bristled, anger flooding his expression. Harry flinched back, despite himself.

"I should have known." He _felt_ more than saw the anger resonating from Tom, seeing his hands gripping tightly at his sides. His eyes glittered red from the light casting from his deep red Gryffindor curtains.

He built the courage to speak after watching Tom fume to himself for a couple minutes, "...What is the prophecy about?" His words seemed to break the other out of his spell, Tom seeming to recover instantly from his anger.

It was a little unsettling, but also a relief.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.._." Riddle recited. "There was more to it, but that is all I know."

"And that refers to... me?"

"My counterpart must have thought so, to come after you so directly." Tom answered ambiguously. "However, there's something I have learned that makes that prophecy much more interesting."

Harry studied Tom, his interest piqued. "What is it?"

"Albus Dumbledore was one of the few witnesses to that specific prophecy. It's very convenient if he couldn't come to the same conclusion as Voldemort did, don't you think?"

"W-well maybe after hearing the whole thing, he thought it was someone else?"

"Ah yes, some other child who's parents defied the dark lord three times and is born in July. I'm sure the number of children that specifically fall into that category is huge, right?"

"T-that's-!" Harry cried out, before he was interrupted.

"You would defend a man that allowed your parents to die so you could become a prophecy child." Tom's words dripped with distain. "I'll admit, you're quite devoted to the man. It's almost admirable if it wasn't so sad," The teen seemed to study his finger nails nonplussed, ignoring Harry's anger at the statement. "And I know you can see it too, how disingenuous he is."

Tom's eyes met his own, studying him. Waiting for his reply.

"You don't know what your talking about," Harry seethed. "How can I even trust you, anyway? Just because you saved Ginny, I'm supposed to accept everything you say as truth?"

Tom smiled, "I'm glad you're taking my lesson about blind belief seriously."

Harry was about to speak again, furious, but Riddle put a single index finger before his mouth, effectively silencing him.

"I don't expect you to go about to Dumbledore, asking him about a prophecy you couldn't have known about to confirm what I say. I want you to think about what I said, and I want you to trust me." He leaned in as he spoke, his eyes never moving from Harry's own. "There is nothing I can offer to you right now besides my knowledge and trust, Harry Potter. I'm nothing more than a wraith, a weak memory of a child from years passed. What evidence would you like from me?"

Harry broke his gaze, feeling somewhat reprimanded by his senior. Embarrassment clawed up his throat, so much that it was difficult to even consider how to answer Riddle's question.

"I don't know," he said finally. Riddle's eyes seemed to brim with satisfaction as he spoke.

"I just..." Harry trailed off hesitantly, before continuing. "It's hard to trust you after what you did. After knowing who you are."

"After knowing who I _would become_ ," Tom corrected. "And I did what I had to, not because I wanted to. _I let her go_ , Harry." His expression changed to something pleading. "What else can I do to gain a second chance from you?"

Harry looked at Tom, the pout of his lips and the desperation in his gaze. He watched his form, how it seemed to flicker. He thought about how the boy had been trapped in the Diary for decades, and despite not knowing specifically how time passed for him - he felt a twinge of sympathy.

He was asking Tom to do something impossible, wasn't he? He had been stuck in a _book_ for twenty years, how would he-

_Wait._

"How did you know about the Raids?" Harry asked suddenly.

And he watched as Tom's expression broke, changing to surprise as he reared back. "I beg your pardon?"

"How did you know about how they only fought during battles? It's been years, I'm sure Voldemort could fight dirty if he wanted to." Harry asked, suspicious. "How could you say that and be sure?"

The tension between them was high, as Riddle stared at him. He didn't speak, or even twitch for what felt like a century. It was if the other was a statue; a very washed out, incorporeal statue.

And then he laughed.

It startled Harry, as he realized deftly that he had never heard really Tom laugh before. It was more of a breathless giggle, but it was much more than the mere huff he had heard in the chamber.

It was absolutely charming.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts, noticing Tom's laughs tapering off. The teen still was smiling, looking at Harry with something like _fondness._

"You're right," he shrugged. "There is absolutely no reasonable way for me to know that in my current state. Well done."

It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did, it felt like an inevitable betrayal. _He knew it._

"Voldemort has contacts in this school, and I abused them with the help of Ginny to get information about what I had missed out on." And just like that, the anger quelling him Harry's chest evaporated once again into something like shock.

"You spoke to... A _Death Eater_...?"

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "I won't say who, but I certainly did acquire external information in regards to what happened that night."

Tom didn't apologize for withholding that information from him.

I... Fine. Okay." Harry finally acknowledged, a headache forming between his temples. "So there's a Death Eater in this school and he told you about the war. Okay." Harry nodded, deciding to take the road of least resistance. "Did you tell him you were Voldemort? Did he recognize you?"

"Now that would be telling," Tom bantered, seeming coy before conceding. "But yes, I deceived him."

"...Okay." Harry said after a moment. "Okay, I'll trust you for now. At least since you let Ginny go."

"I appreciate that." The taller teen smiled. "I won't take your trust for granted, Harry." Tom promised, sounding heartfelt.

Harry felt a small weight release from his chest, and he nodded back to the other, pleased.

"Thank you, Tom."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to get a head start @abstract_roses.
> 
> but thank you guys so much for liking this

* * *

The following evening, Harry is much more mentally prepared and ready to face Tom.

As such, he isn't surprised when Riddle's spectre appears. This time, what he is surprised by is the show of how he appears from the Diary's pages. How he simply seems to bloom into existence, wisping from no particular source. It strikes him as a particularly magical sight, like seeing Diagon Alley for the first time, or seeing himself transform under the effects of Polyjuice. Magic was, even now, truly mesmerizing.

He absentmindedly wonders how he didn't catch it before. Had he truly been that wrapped in his thoughts? Shaking his head to dismiss his stray musings, Harry opens his mouth to greet his visitor.

Immediately Tom silences him; the ghost of fingers suddenly pressing against his feeling is like ice and electricity at once, and he is unable to do much beyond watch Tom motion with his hands and murmur an incantation.

The words are impossible to catch beyond the low rumbling snores emanating from his roommates.

He catches the way Tom's form seems to shudder slightly at the use of magic, but is also caught up in the use of _wandless_ magic from the spectre. He knew Riddle could cast something before, but he expected an image of a wand from him. Though, Harry supposed, perhaps that didn't work at all considering it wouldn't be real.

His musing were cut off as the hand effectively silencing him was retracted. Embarrassment blooms from him at the realization of _why_ he needed to be quieted to begin with. Harry ducks his head, sheepish. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He peers up to catch an amused twist of Tom's lips as he speaks. "It's quite alright. Refrain from doing so in the future though, if you will. We don't need any unwanted questions, do we?" His tone was foreboding.

"No," Harry replies immediately. "Not at all."

He shudders to think what would happen if any of his roommates started inquiring about his late night conversations with someone unknown within his drawn curtains. Rumour would spread fast. He imagined that most likely Ron and Hermione would draw conclusions, getting upset if his excuse wasn't satisfactory. They might even draw in a Professor if they were particularly inclined.

He desperately didn't want to face that. They wouldn't understand.

"I'm glad you agree with me, Harry." Tom praises, with a soft dulcet smile. Harry is struck how innocent it makes the other look, and the fact Tom Riddle is to be the next Dark Lord makes him unsettled; the sudden duality of his appearance striking. The older teen begins to speak again, seeming oblivious to Harry's sudden internal distress.

"But speaking of which, I still intend to teach you the Silencing Charm. I can simply wait in the Diary until its cast, so that we wouldn't take an unnecessary risks." Tom tells him, before adding on, "Not that I don't trust you."

"No, that makes sense." Harry agrees easily. "I would like to learn it as well. It seems very useful, as you said."

"Quite," The phantom nods. "But in return, I have a favour to ask of you."

Harry swallows at the request, immediately reminded of dismal chambers and words written in chicken blood. Tom had never asked him of something before, even when they had simply wrote to each other through the Diary. "A favor?" He asks, both hesitant and wary.

"Nothing ghastly, I give you my word." Tom promises, seeming to pick up on his uncertainty. "But, I'm sure than you can tell that this form is... weakening." There's a bitter edge to his words.

Harry has noticed. The shuddering edges of Tom's form seemed to have been aggravated, and he seemed far less vivid than he had in the chamber. His touch was even less visceral, more ethereal and alike to the ghosts that haunted the castle.

He nodded.

"That you keep me with you, and that I'm in Hogwarts gives me a good amount of ambient magic." Tom tells him, "But it's not nearly enough to appear like this. If this continues, I'll be unable to contact you aside from the Diary." He seems to scowl at the reminder. The expression lasts but only a moment, but Harry catches it.

"If you wish to continue to meet like this, I would need a larger injection of magic." Tom explains to him delicately.

"Okay," Harry nods along at the explanation. But the amount of time Tom is spending in this explanation is only making him more unnerved. It would be far less suspicious if he came out with the request immediately. The build up is making him uneasy, sending off alarm bells in his mind.

"One of the easiest ways to do it would be a small amount of your blood."

And there it was.

"Absolutely not." The words shoot from his mouth in an instant, before Harry can even consider them.

Internally he balks at the request as it registers, cringing at the idea. He braces himself for Tom's reaction, uncertain of how he would explode in his reply to his defiance. Despite that, he can't allow himself to do something like that. Harry is uncertain if something like that would be dark, but it sounds unpleasant at the very least.

He needs Riddle to respect his boundaries, if anything.

So, Harry is surprised when Tom merely nods his head in acceptance. "I figured you say that. It's quite alright, I understand the aversion to such things."

After a moment of waiting for Tom to simply change his mind, to start frothing at his insolence, he exhales softly in relief. As soon as he denied the other, he expected a heated argument, perhaps even the other becoming violent. Despite his conversations with the teen, all he truly knew about the other was his status as a fifth year Slytherin student, and that he was the boy to become Voldemort. He knew the other could be cordial, but was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Everything he did seemed at odds with Harry's expectations, and he wasn't sure how to anticipate the other anymore.

"I simply... I've been trapped in those pages for a long time, Harry. I believe it nearly drove me mad, being unable to interact with anything lasting." Tom explains, giving him a depreciating smile."It was selfish of me to ask, really. I had figured you would be uncomfortable, I was simply... hopeful I suppose." His words carry a longing note, bathed in melancholy.

It makes Harry feel terribly guilty, horrible for denying Tom. He didn't even consider how awful it was to be trapped in a book for over fifty years. He couldn't comprehend it even if he tried.

And in that moment, in hindsight, with those words something clicked. The whole Chamber of Secrets debacle gained a new clarity for Harry. Tom's actions made _sense_ in a horrible way _._ He wasn't excusing his actions for what he had done, for petrifying the students and nearly shutting down Hogwarts. For intending to kill Ginny. But if he had been put in the same spot— trapped in a book for _decades_ , without contact without freedom, knowing the world was moving on without him and he was still frozen in time —he didn't know what he would do if he had to chance to be free, despite the cost of someone's life. Would Harry even be sane at that point?

Was Tom even sane at this point? Excusing the incident with the chamber, he seemed to be. Perfectly so. And yet—

"I changed my mind," Harry says suddenly. "Tell me what you need me to do."

And Tom's image of downtrodden boy immediately changes into something of surprise. "Truly?" He breathes, hopeful. Before seeming to hesitate. "You don't have to feel compelled top do so for my sake. I'll be fine, I promise."

"No, it's fine." Harry insists adamantly. "I want to do it."

And Tom smiles, and it's a breathtaking thing as he seems impossibly pleased and fond all at once. "Thank you, Harry. It truly means a lot you would be willing to do this for me."

"Of course, Tom. I'm happy to." Harry tells him honestly, feeling a bit flushed at Tom's response.

The spectre of a teen leans in, peering down at Harry through dark lashes. "So, _here's what I need you to do_..."

* * *

Harry exasperatedly rubs at his dry eyes, trying to get them to focus on the words written in Snape's spidery scrawl on the chalkboard. His glasses nearly fall off in the process, but he can't bring himself to care, leaving them crooked as he peers at the text.

He was exhausted from last night, most likely from the late hour and the new spells he had learned. They had been spells for the higher years, so it would explain his sluggishness. He had felt terribly drained after them, after all.

Ron and Hermione had appeared incredibly concerned at his obvious fatigue at breakfast, but he waved them off easily with the excuse of nightmares. They had accepted the excuse, and told him with worrying glances to take it easy. He didn't offer up any more words at breakfast, absentmindedly listening to their conversation groggily.

His arm was sore from the cut he had been instructed to make, with Tom having instructed him how to use a cutting hex. Apparently it had been coming they had taught in fifth year. It had been a spell used by Mediwitches to remove clothing when they could not be spelled off, Tom had told him.

Despite that, Harry couldn't help but be pleased. Not only with his new repertoire of spells, but that he had managed to make Tom nearly as solid as he had been in the chamber. The older teen looked openly surprised at the effectiveness of the tribute, seeming nearly _giddy_ at the effectiveness. It was a unexpected, but not unpleasant sight.

Tom said he would be good for quite a while with the magic he had been given, and thanked Harry profusely. Despite his exhaustion, Harry was positively beaming for most of the morning.

But dealing with an especially volatile Snape for two blocks could put a damper on anyone's mood, naturally.

The man seemed to be on a rampage, agitated and nitpicking at _everyone_ in range. Even his own Slytherin's. It was an odd sight to see, and the class was uncharacteristically silent, despite working in partnered groups. Everyone was working diligently and quietly, trying desperately to escape the man's wrath. From the low mutterings of the other students, no one quite seemed to know _why either_.

Snape criticized him especially viciously, spelling away his potion several times with declaration of it being impossibly flawed. Of course, despite the fact it seemed perfectly fine to Harry. But he really didn't have the energy to argue, and despite the glares and clipped agreements he gave, Harry had no interest in kicking the hornets nest. He simply wanted to go back to bed.

He could probably get away with sleeping through lunch if he immediately headed to the dormitory.

His classmates immediately fled the room with a fervor usually saved for only the last day of classes. He took his time

"You seem tired, Mister Potter. Getting into trouble after curfew are we?" Snape honed in on him, and Harry wasn't the least bit surprised.

Harry was prepared though. He planned to be completely cordial to avoid a spontaneous detention, but he knew if the man was particularly determined, that it was a moot effort.

"No sir," he replied duly as he gathered his potioneering tools. The scale easily fitting in his charmed bag as the other continued to hound him.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for lying, Potter." Snape snapped in response. Harry didn't deign it with a response, uncaring.

Snape suddenly, without warning, struck out like a viper, grabbing his forearm as he made a move to leave. Harry froze in his tracks, the tight grip stopping him in his tracks.

The man leaned down, as he spoke, "You should be careful, Mister Potter." He murmured to him lowly, "And glamours go a long way to hide dark circles like yours."

And then suddenly the grip was gone, and Snape was walking away with a fluttering of his robes towards his desk. He saw Snape glance back it him, but Harry was still frozen, baffled by the action.

"Well what are you waiting for? Class is over, Potter." The man snapped, sneering at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Get a move on," He barked. "I have other classes to attend to."

The man heralded him out, and Harry didn't need to be told twice. He fled out the door into the dungeon halls, unseeing where he was going. Mind spinning as he narrowly dodged other passing students. He heard someone call out for him, Ron perhaps, but he ignored the other and continued to walk briskly.

_What the bloody hell was that about?_

* * *


End file.
